


Little Sparrow

by anonymousmadame2911



Category: Hugh Ransom Drysdale - Fandom, Hugh Ransom Thrombey, Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Birthday Party, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Penetrative Sex, Singing, Squirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:41:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23398639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymousmadame2911/pseuds/anonymousmadame2911
Summary: You are booked to perform for Ransom Drysdale.warning: rich people and their entitlement.
Relationships: Ransom Drysdale/Original Female Character(s), Ransom Drysdale/woman of color, Ransom Thrombey/Kat Graham, Ransom Thrombey/woman of color
Kudos: 31





	Little Sparrow

“How much?”  
“$5.”

You noticed him throughout your performance. He talked to his friend the entire time, irritating you to no end. Sure, it was an open mic night, but you managed to silence everyone except for him. He flipped open a large wad of cash. The green bill slipped through your fingers, flipping across the gravel in the dark parking lot. You snatched it quickly back up and tucked it in the back pocket of your jeans.

“You were good in there. You do parties?”  
“Yeah. I do events. You have to put down a deposit first.”  
“Hm.”

He looked down his nose at you. He might be good looking, but that white entitlement rolled off of him in waves. You’d be glad to get in your car and never see him again. You slammed the trunk of your car and pulled your jacket closed. You ducked into your 1992 Toyota Corolla and pulled away, leaving him standing in the parking lot. 

Three weeks later, you received a call from a Harlan. The machine had garbled his last name, so you couldn’t ask around about him. The message stated that he wanted you to perform for his grandson at his birthday party. You're a kid’s performer now? You picked up the phone to inform this kindly grandfather that you would not perform for him. 

“Well, you see, there seems to be a mistake. My grandson is in his thirties and he’s specifically asked that I book you. He said I’d have to put down a deposit before you would perform.”  
“In his thirties?”  
“He’s turning 35.”  
“I see. The total for the performance is $10,000 with a 50% deposit upfront.”  
“No problem. Would you like to pick the check up today?”  
“Sure. I can swing by at 4 pm?”  
“Perfect.”

You took down the address with shaking fingers. This would be the first time you were booked for a private performance. You would bring out all of your best numbers. You arrived at 3:45 pm in front of a large estate.

“Where the fu—”  
“Please come in.”  
“This is a nice place.”  
“Mr. Thrombey will be down in a minute. Have a seat in his office.”

You caught a glimpse of the living room with a large fireplace before turning into a large cozy office with an equally large fireplace. A second later, a kindly older man entered.

“We spoke on the phone—”  
“Oh! Yes! I hope I didn’t offend you, just that there’s some communication issues on the phone. When you said grandson, I assumed you meant a little child and not a grown man who wanted a singer for his birthday party.”  
“You don’t know Ransom. He’s a bit headstrong. What he wants, he gets. Here you go.”

He handed you a check with the deposit neatly written on it. You tucked it away in your bag and made for the door. 

“Oh, do you know where I’ll be setting up. Will it be in the backyard or—”  
“He said he wants an intimate performance. You’ll be in the living room.”  
“I’m not sure that’s enough space--”  
“It’s what Ransom wants.”

Harlan shrugged like his hands were tied. 

“Alright. Thanks. I’ll call you if I have any other questions. Otherwise, I’ll see you in 4 weeks.”

You prepared. You choreographed. You sewed new outfits together. As the event loomed closer and closer, your nerves overtook your doubts. You were really going to perform for Harlan Thrombey. You no longer cared about his grandson. In the ensuing weeks since you received the deposit, you had done your research and found out that Thrombey and his family had money. Big money in books and movies. This event might lead to a single on a soundtrack. You could make connections that would actually help your career instead of struggling in nightclubs and open mic nights. You chose a short copper dress to match your skin. You could move in it and look good standing at the mic. The slit in the thigh was killer. You arrived promptly at 7 pm to set up, but the maid—Franny? Frankie?—told you that you wouldn’t need to set up and to come back at 10 pm.

“I can’t come back at 10. That’s when I’m supposed to start.”  
“You can wait in the kitchen, but we are getting all the food set up—”  
“But, I’m supposed to perform. I have to set up in the living room.”  
“Yes. I understand. They told us you would perform in the living room. Do you need anything more than a mic?”  
“Yes. I need to rehearse.”  
“Well, I don’t know where you’re going to—”  
“In the living room!”  
“Come back at 10 and perform.”

You let out a deep sigh. This looked bad. Real. Bad. But you were a champ. You were tough and you had been in worse situations. You’d pull it together and give these rich assholes the best performance of your life. You slowly returned to your apartment, wrapping your mind around what just happened. Who doesn’t want their performer to rehearse? Have you ever heard of such a thing? This reqquired best friend therapy.

“Dani! I can’t believe these weirdos.”  
“Listen, I didn’t know a damn thing about these people until you told me about them. They sound really strange. You better be careful. But you got all your songs ready and you’re gonna kill them!”  
“Yeah, but this threw me. Took me out of my performance head space.”  
“Get in your performance head space!”  
“I know. I know.”  
“You’re amazing. Wonderful. I have no doubt that you are going to have a great performance no matter what. But get in the right frame of mind. Don’t let them throw you off your game.”  
“They totally did! They threw me off my game!”  
“No! Now get on your game!”  
“You’re crazy! Ok. Ok! I’m on my game. Let me go warm up. These fools are so weird.”  
“Forget ‘em! Worry only about yourself and your performance! You got this!!!!!”

You squared your shoulders and did your vocal warm-ups in your bathroom. You applied a bright red lip and a neutral eye. You threw on your flats and were ready to take on these rich bitches. You arrived promptly at 9:30 and the maid—what’s her name?—let you sit in the kitchen until 10 pm. 

“Ready?”  
“Uh? Now!”  
“It is 10.”

You jumped up and followed her to the mic stand in the living room. There were only a few people there. You belted your heart out. You wouldn’t let a few haters throw you off your game. You came to sing and you did. What annoyed you was the arrogance that rolled off of Hugh, sitting front and center, as if you were only performing for him. How was it possible for someone to look down their nose at you when they were sitting? How?! You finished your set, only to realize that Hugh was the only one left in the room. 

“That was great, little sparrow. Follow me. I’ll get the rest of your payment.”

You would snatch that money and run away from this blue-eyed devil. You stood by the desk, taking no notice that he had locked the door to the office. 

“We all good?”  
“Yup.”

You walked by him to leave when he grabbed your wrist.

“I’m not.”

“Wha—what are you talking about?”

He pressed your small frame against the heavy oak door. The whiskey on his breath forced you to turn your face away from him.

“Oh, you give it up too easily,” he murmured into your neck.

His breath teased down your neck. You struggled to pull your hand back from him and glared up at him. You attempted to push him off of you without much success.

“Come on,” he murmured, “don’t be like that. You’ve been begging for it all night.”

He pulled you easily to the thick wooden desk and threw you on it.

“This dress has been teasing me and now I wanna see what you got underneath it.”  
“Nothin—”  
“Nothing! Ho! I hope so!”  
“I meant,” you gritted out, “nothing for you!”

You squealed as he dropped to his knees. He nosed his way under your dress, forcing you to squirm backwards on the desk. His heavy hands slid up the back of your thighs under your dress. 

“You better stop. Someone is going to hear us.”  
“Hear us?! My grandfather sound-proofed this room so he could work. He got tired of always hearing everyone fighting all the time. It ruined his concentration. Yell as much as you like. Door’s locked. Room’s sound-proofed.”

You were speechless. You couldn’t think clearly with his face pressing into your hands. He nipped at the top of your hands so you would move them. 

“Move ‘em,” he growled, “I wanna know what you smell like.”

Shame burned up your cheeks. Your arousal and your dignity were locked in an epic battle. You wanted to say “yes” and “no” at the same time. He was an asshole. But he was so hot. But he was such an arrogant asshole. He bit harder on your hands. No one would have to know, right? You moved your hands to the edge of your dress holding it down. He nuzzled his face in your lap taking a deep breath. His fingers hooked around your underwear, but still you refused to move, petrified. 

“Fine. Do this the hard way,” he tutted.

He continued pulling at your thong until it ripped. He hooked his hands behind your knees and pulled you to the edge of the desk. You fell backwards out of shock. He shoved your short dress up to your waist and pushed his face between your thighs. He took a deep inhale and pressed your legs open. You wiggled away from him out of embarrassment. 

“Honey, I can tell from your thong that you want this.”

You stilled on the desk. His large hands caressed the tops of your thighs. 

“Open up for me.”

You had no control over your body. You opened your legs an inch. 

“More.”

Another inch.

“I said ‘more.’”

He spread your legs and your glistening pussy was on full display. 

“Oh yesyesyes. This is what I wanted all night. Happy birthday to me.”

The hot wet muscle of his tongue slowly slid between the folds of your pussy. The tip teased its way between your folds until your hips jerked subconsciously. 

“There it is.”

He sounded like a kid who found a lost toy. The tip of his tongue teased your clit while your hips bounced on the table. Your fingernails left crescent-shaped marks in the wood. Your quiet panting was covered up by the crackling of the fireplace in the office, thankfully. He pushed your legs up so all of you was on show to him. He lapped and licked, getting every delicate and neglected inch of your pussy. You would cum for him tonight. He wouldn’t be refused. 

“You wanna be difficult tonight, don’t you?”

He latched onto your clit, sucking, flicking and sucking some more. The coil in your lower belly tightened and tightened. His saliva dripped down your thigh onto the desk. He grabbed your hand and set it on his head. You rocked against his face and pulled his face into you. He alternated between thrusting his tongue inside of you and flicking against your clit. The coil snapped and warmth washed through you. You went slack against the desk as feelings of calm, goodness and happiness rippled through you. He stood up swiftly from the floor and pulled you to his chest. 

“Since you wanna be so difficult, I’m gonna get what I want outta you.”

He spun you around to the desk and pushed your chest onto the desk. The dress was already hiked up to your waist giving him easy access. He leaned against you, pinning you to the desk. 

“You feel that? It’s all for you.”

The clothed length of his hardness pressed against your ass. His hand worked between your two bodies until you felt the head of his dick nudged between your sensitive folds. You squeezed everything down there, resisting him and giving him the friction he wanted. 

“Oh. Yessssss,” he hissed in your ear, “you’re gonna make a mess for me tonight.”  
“No—I’ve never—please.”  
“Oh yes. I always get what I want on my birthday.”

Your body betrayed you. How could you be turned on? How could you be wet from this asshole? He slowly slid in and out until he saw the reaction he was looking for.

“There we go.”

He pressed himself fully against you and thrust deeply against the right spot. The urge to pee was quickly replaced by the urge for him to keep going. You rocked back into him. Panic had subsided into pure lust. His hand reached into your dress to pinch at your brown nipple. He tugged the spaghetti straps of your dress down so he could watch as your boobs pressed against the desk. The cool sensation of the desk brushing against your nipples was a welcome sensation against the heat building between your two bodies. The coil twisted deep in your belly. You felt a deeper sensation than before and the coil snapped. You relaxed and felt your orgasm wash through you from head to toe. Wetness dripped from between the two of you. You lie limp against the desk. Hugh pumped vigorously and grabbed your hand. He gripped your hands tightly and thrust erratically. He convulsed and spilled on top of you. 

“Oh-oh fuck. Fuck.”

He took a deep inhale and lay limp on top of you. 

“Hey. Hey! Asshole. You’re heavy.”

He propped himself up off of you and reached for the tissues. He wiped the cum off of your ass and tucked himself back into his pants. 

“So, should I book your for my next birthday party?”  
“Fuck no. Your straight white male entitlement is disgusting. You might be a good lay, but that’s all you’re good for.”

You grabbed your bag; made sure you had your deposit; unlocked the door; and walked out of the Thrombey mansion.


End file.
